Well, we cannot legally execute, now can we? At least not officially, eh?" MacGregor let out a raspy laugh. "And the medical interventions-" He waved a limp, dismissive hand, "-next to useless I'm afraid. Chemical castration is of questionable value. It is after all the brain where the problem actually lies," MacGregor tapped a finger to his temple significantly, "-in the personality, and not in the sex organs."
"You do understand when people learn of this they are not going to be happy, right?"
MacGregor stifled a yawn, "The alternative is that these individuals are in and out of institutions and prison...causing more harm, more damage, which results in more abusers."
"Maybe it would be better to try and stop people turning into monsters and predators in the first place-don't you think?"
"We are trying, but it would appear that the modern world is almost perfectly disposed to creating disturbed individuals, rather an unfortunate by product. Boredom can be very dangerous too. Sexual assault is the most clearly existential crime, yes?"
"And you say it's incurable?"
"Yes, we believe so. Like murder, it cannot be undone, and once they violate a child, destroying their innocence, well, they cannot undo the damage.
The act of abuse changes the abuser in a fundamental way, just as it changes the victim.
There can be no way back.
They have crossed a line. In a sense it could be said that they have surrendered their human citizenship-and become something else. Something we cannot trust.
Some of these offenders refer to their condition using the terminology of demonic possession, but that seems a cop out, a clumsy, desperate avoidance technique; 'The Devil made me do it'-but if there is a demon it is one they have actively invoked, willingly embraced. There can be no mitigation for destroying innocence."
"So, is that the motive of these abusers, 'the destruction of innocence'?"
"Obviously, they want to infect the child, and impose their own psychic wounds onto another, as if the act of spreading the pain might somehow lessen it, which of course it does not.
Driven like rabid dogs, to spread their disease-and sometimes they succeed which is why we view it as contagious."
"Not all those who are abused become abusers."
"But some do. Not all those bitten by mosquitoes acquire malaria. Of course some internalize the abuser and abuse themselves..."
3. The Island Location
The helicopter approached the island, against the backdrop of the thin powder blue sky of spring, the island itself looked like a film set, with its mess of white cottages around the harbor. It was a perfect representation of a small, somewhat isolated Scottish fishing village, except, of course there where no boats.
The hard grey rock formations, the bitter under bite of the wind, the foaming sea, all conspired to
suggest to Dennison that it had to be somewhere close to the west coast of Scotland.
Of course this was just an estimate, as the actual location had been carefully concealed from him. That was part of the deal.
Loading up the cards and I start thinking. I think about casino's, and all that is.
Imagine a building dear reader, where degenerate, and often eccentric behaviour is not only the norm. its positively encouraged. Heavy drinking and gambling is as much a part of the punters mind as work, or going for a meal. Its just what they do to get their kicks.
Fiction - Charity Begins in the Toilet By Shep
Like most stories this one starts at the beginning with a middle aged man kissing a middle aged woman on the middle of the lips. I'm not sure where the middle starts or ends but I'm fairly sure its centre is an equal distance from these two extremes.
The man's head jacks back and forth like a mother bird trying to vomit out some nourishment to her
Fiction - Goths in Denim (I only dress like a Goth!) By Jason Ince
'That can't be the time!' I scream, staring at the clock-slash-radio-slash-CD player. This is the last time I try a DVD marathon within one day, I'll kill Stanny for suggesting it to me. The phone starts to vibrate before the ringtone kicks in. It's Clark's tone...again, 'damn you, Clark!'
I charge across the room and leap over the chair and snatch the mobile.
Fiction - Absinthe - A Cautionary Tale By Sean Davey
In pursuit of the perfect high, man invented absinthe, and I among others regularly enjoy its powerful effects. But on some days, store-bought brands are far too timid for the task at hand. On these days we need the homemade stuff.
Created in garages and lofts, jam packed with wormwood and all those other alpha-terpenes to get the brain synapses into full gear.
Fiction - Punishment By Nick Quantrill
Punishment by local crime-fiction writer and thisisull.com contributor,
Nick Quantrill, has won a nationwide short-story competition run by HarperCollins.
Entrants were invited to submit a story of no more than 1,000 words in the
Here's what the judges had to say about Punishment :
'We were impressed with the use ofRead more...
Fiction - Friday Feeling By Nick Quantrill
It was building up to being another busy Friday afternoon shift. It was probably no busier than any other shift, but the extra tiredness that Detective Constable Maynard felt by this point made them feel that much longer. He had been sent to Young's general store in East Hull straight after attending a suspicious death over on the other side of the city.
Fiction - The Morning After By Joe Hakim
They'll be here soon.
There's nothing much to do other than wait, so I make another strong cup of coffee and light
up another cigarette. Even these seemingly arbitrary actions are cast into a new focus now.
This patch of time I'm occupying is a bridge - a bridge that spans the space between
the way my life used to be and the way it's going to be. I look around my living room
Fiction - In A Room By Joe Hakim
I wish there were bars so I could hold them, wrap my fingers around the cold steel and press my face in between them, but it's just a room, I'm in a dark room with no windows and no features, so I just sit and think and think and think.
I am a captive, a hostage in a foreign country. I'm apart from my family and friends and I don't know if I'll ever see them again.
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2: Prologue (June 1904: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
From the outside the two-storey building looked even more forbidding now than the first time I saw it. Eighteen more years of Hull soot had turned bricks from red to dark brown. The dank smell of Grandmother's skirt returned to me. I caught my breath. So many emotions stirred inside me. Doors in my mind that I'd kept closed for so long were opening again but this time
Fiction - Buried In The Past By Joe Hakim
Arriving back in Hull, the first thing that hits me is just how much hasn't changed.
As I walk down Princes Ave, I look at all the café bars that have sprang up to replace
the odd little shops and businesses that used to line it, but it still feels the
same somehow. There's a kind of progress, I suppose - even if progress means it's
starting to resemble everywhere else in Britain -
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 21 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
The extra twenty-four hour wait only made me more desperate than ever to discover what had become of my old friends. It didn't feel right to be back and not be with them. They were Hull to me. I needed to see them and for them to see me. Would they believe little Sammy could have grown so much? Would I be as tall as George now?
My friends were all I wanted
Fiction - Red Carpet Blues By Steve Rudd
'One more word out of you, and it'll be your last - I promise.'
The ice-cold gun nudging Ellie's temple was motivation enough for her to keep her mouth shut, as she trembled with fear. She daren't even sob in case her captor construed that any form of noise was reason enough to blow her brains out without further ado.
So much for being a superstar in her own right,
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 20 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
The deck rose and fell beneath my feet. My moccasins were meant for the solid earth of the Dakotas, not a slippery wooden deck in an Atlantic storm. I continued focusing on the infant pony and repeated all the psalms and hymns I could recall. Words that were drilled into me. I never thought they'd ever be of any use, other than to avoid Jolly Rodgers'
Fiction - 'I Do' By Steve Rudd
Nobody told me marriage would be like this. I thought it would be bliss, day in and day out,
but problems soon surfaced, after our hastily arranged elopement in good old Gretna - that bizarre little settlement that straddles the border between England and Scotland as though it can't quite decide where it stands; where it belongs; which side of the metaphorical fence it is
Fiction - Two Sides : A Friday Night Out In Hull By Joe Hakim
I'm just finishing off at work, watching the clock and loading the pot-wash with plates and cups,
waiting for Sarah to start her shift so I can go home.
It's been a really busy day, so I'll be glad to see the back of the fuckin' place.
I've been working at Sparks cafè bar on Newland Ave for over a year, but it's only been in
the past couple of months it's got really busy.
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 19 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
Was it my imagination or were dark clouds hanging over the Persian Monarch the next morning?
I feared the worst. Heavy feet climbed the wooden steps to my hero's saloon.
As before Red Shirt, Dog That Stands and Laughing Waters were there in support of my case.
We entered the cabin and my spirits rose. Nate Salsbury wasn't there and Miss Arta was
Fiction - Complicity Part 6 By Nick Quantrill
Complicity is the new crime-fiction novella set in Hull featuring
Detective Sergeant Coleman and Detective Constable Maynard.
The thisisull.com serialisation is accompanied by the stunning black and
white photography of Roland Standaert, which illustrates the story and takes a unique look at the city.
Complicity and other stories are available for free.
Fiction - Gloomy Sunday By Joe Hakim
As we got closer I could see it framed against the horizon. From this distance it just looked like a huge black shape, like a giant lump of coal or something. "Jeezus, it's huge," I said. "Yeah, I'm guessing it's a male," Mike said. "Could be about fifty tonnes of whale washed up down there." Mike was a marine biologist.
He'd been given the task of studying